


we need no proper ending (that would mean this meant something)

by velocinity



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, some kind of burn idfk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocinity/pseuds/velocinity
Summary: Kris speaks but it’s different, Anthony can only recognize it as dangerous, sharp, terrifying. He doesn’t move.”I’m going home, Anthony. Don’t call me.”





	we need no proper ending (that would mean this meant something)

**Author's Note:**

> hi. its been so long! im writing the preface and everything at 11 pm because i had an idea and i had to let it out of my head. 
> 
> it caused me pain so i hope it does for you as well :)
> 
> the title is from only love by anthony green ft nate ruess... my love

Harsh sunlight filters through the stark-white curtains. Birds chirp outside, cars honk in frustration, the L rumbles along the tracks below.

Kris is there, feet firmly cemented on the floor of Anthony’s bedroom, his toned back from years of training are visible through the haze. He’s facing the door. His jeans sit low on his thin hips, and his belt has yet to be buckled. His shirt is still on the couch. Purple bruises pepper his neck. His hair is messy, unkempt, glistening a golden-brown that would usually bring Anthony comfort, but not now. His hands rest in his pockets. His head is hung low.

Anthony is there too. His legs are crossed Native American-style, and his hands are gripping the sheets in hopes to return to a different, more welcoming reality.

”I–,” Anthony croaks, the words dying in his throat. Kris doesn’t move.

”I know,” it’s the first thing Kris has said that morning. Imaginary conversations of apologies and anger swirl around Anthony’s head endlessly. Kris had looked at him with such horror in his eyes, like the bright blue that captivated him before had been drained and replaced with unfamiliarity. It makes him want to kiss his feet and ask for forgiveness. It makes him want to connect his knuckles with his mouth. 

”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–“

”I  _know,”_ Kris snaps, his head turning back only slightly. His eyes aren’t focused on anything in particular. He picks up his phone from the floor and slides it into his back pocket, letting out a short, pained sigh. Anthony says nothing. A creeping breeze seaps through the window and if Anthony was paying attention, he’d be cold. 

Anthony doesn’t feel the tears pooling in his eyes, doesn’t feel anything. All he sees is Kris’s slim frame start to move in a dark void he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s walking funny. 

Kris speaks but it’s  _different,_ Anthony can only recognize it as dangerous, sharp, _terrifying._ He doesn’t move.

”I’m going home, Anthony. Don’t call me.”

Anthony stays put as Kris takes his shirt from the couch and slides it over his head. The mid morning sun is unfitting, and leaves a bad taste in Anthony’s mouth. Slight shivers possess the back of his neck. An unwelcoming feeling rises in his chest, painfully blunt. It’s nameless; a perverted kind of anticipation, the feeling of experiencing something new and forbidden, pushing against a deep-seated regret that’s beginning to consume and corrode.

The door clicks shut, but Anthony swears he hears it slam.


End file.
